You're a Hot Mess (Peterick)

Chapter Four - I Think Our Tour Checklists Are A Little Different

*I've actually seen this fic being rec'd to people a few times, which is insanely cool so thank you to those people. And thank you to everyone else who's so much as read this. It means a lot.*

I think about Mikey as I stare mindlessly out of the aeroplane's window. I think about his reaction to when I told him last night I was leaving in the morning.

He didn't take it well. I forgot to apologise.

I think about the ridiculous effect Patrick's had on me already.

It sends shivers down my spine, and a heavy weight sits in my stomach with the guilt I've no reason to have.

But then I stop thinking about that, and I start thinking about the aeroplane itself, the pink-hued clouds surfacing underneath us.

I expected a tour bus and bunk beds. Instead I get private jets and hotel rooms.

Patrick sighs beside me and I snap out of my train of thought to look at him. He's sifting through papers, documents, ink printed neatly onto crisp pieces of paper.

"What's wrong?"

He looks at me with surprise, like he didn't know he's been sighing and frowning for most of the journey.

"Nothing. It's just.. you know, business problems." He looks down at the papers before his eyes flicker back to me.

"Business problems? You're doing the paperwork for your own band?" I ask disbelievingly, unable to hide a smirk. Patrick rolls his eyes.

"I uh, manage a lot of the financial and legal side of things in the band. I went to law school for a while-"

"You went to law school?" I ask, shocked. He grins sheepishly and shrugs, looking away. "I had some free time between tours and I thought I might as well help out behind the scenes, so I studied law for a bit, and... now I'm helping." He gestures at the pages in front of him, seeming deflated when he does so.

"Or trying." He mutters, staring at them as if he's hoping they'll fix themselves.

* * * * *

Patrick and I lock eyes from across the room. He's talking to the staff with Z at the front desk. He looks apologetic when he looks at me and seems to excuse himself before walking towards me.

"Listen there's been a mix-up with the rooms, meaning you and I have to share." His expression is blank, and it's not exactly the expression I would've expected him to have. I would've thought he'd be smirking and smiling at me, hinting about high school and all the things we got up to then.

My expectations have been a little off recently.

"That's cool, it'll be like old times." I tell him with a smile, see if I can cause a spark, without really knowing whether I want one or not.

His expression fades into happiness and relief and he takes my suitcase at my feet and grins, "That's what I thought you'd say." And he struts off with my luggage and I stop to wonder whether he planned that or not.

I think I'm jet-lagged.

* * * * *

"This is the part where I'd say something in a different language as you see the room." Patrick says as the door swings open. I laugh and push past him as he stands in the doorway with a smug look on his face.

The room isn't like any hotel room I've ever seen. The walls are a deep blue, bursting with spirals of white and richer blues the closer it gets to the crisp white skirting board.

Patrick looks unfazed and he walks across the room to a door, before opening it and heading inside. I follow him and watch as he throws his bags onto one bed and gently sets my bags onto the other.